


Well, shouldn't you be fucking with somebody your age instead of making changes?

by MeanderingMotivation



Series: The Witcher A/B/O [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22893805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeanderingMotivation/pseuds/MeanderingMotivation
Summary: Jaskier presents himself to Geralt, but the man develops a case of cold feet. He is determined to do right by Jaskier, even if it means rejecting him.ORGeralt suffers from a bout of conscience, and Jaskier painstakingly pieces the causes of his rejection together, and challenges them.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher A/B/O [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597840
Comments: 68
Kudos: 1268
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	Well, shouldn't you be fucking with somebody your age instead of making changes?

**Author's Note:**

> So, I’m alive!
> 
> Sorry for the long wait on this one, but life has been pretty hectic recently and it took a while to edit and then post. Once again, a lot of build-up, of the emotional kind this time. One day I will write something with a little more substance (very soon hopefully)
> 
> For clarification, this one-shot takes place DIRECTLY after the last in this series, so if you haven’t read the last one, maybe go ahead and do that because this probably won’t make sense otherwise.
> 
> Other than that, I hope you enjoy reading! 😊

* * *

Geralt isn’t inexperienced with men.

Sure, he’s always had a stronger preference for women (prostitutes, specifically) but he hasn’t been known to be overly picky, when his options are limited. More than once he’s arrived at a brothel after months on the road, pent-up with sexual frustration, only to learn that all of their women are omegas, and since Geralt doesn’t ~~didn’t~~ _do_ omegas-

(“You have discerning taste, eh? Well, we do cater to _all_ of our customers, so if you desire something with a bit more _curve,_ we can accommodate you. Alpha, or beta? I’ll arrange a viewing for you…”)

He’s not proud of it, and he’d never admit it to Jaskier, who he’s rebuked more than once about being careless with where he places his cock, but he’s been a little...sloppy as well. It wasn’t that he disliked being with men or anything, but women were…well they _had_ been so much more appealing.

Until Jaskier.

Not that the genitalia really mattered in this particular case. Man, woman, or anything in between, Geralt would have fallen in love with Jaskier despite it all. His form was pleasing, but it wasn’t his looks (although they certainly were an added bonus) that had eventually chipped away at his armour, and burrowed snugly underneath. It was the determination. The sarcasm. The enduring good humour and cheer, even when he was complaining about sore feet or an empty stomach. He was entertaining and bright, a beacon for attention (both negative and positive) and his charisma was impressive.

There were instincts involved as well, but underneath the appealing scent and the purring and the _omegan behaviour,_ there was a real connection. It wasn’t all biology, no matter how hard Geralt had tried to convince himself of that at first.

Perhaps this connection was merely their compatibility as mates, but Geralt didn’t care.

He knew what he felt, and he trusted his instincts. It had taken a while for him to work through his own issues with forming attachments, and then there was the whole, _I’m a witcher, I don’t feel,_ broody state he’d perpetuated for years (mostly as a coping mechanism, as Jaskier had told him once, very drunkenly and stupidly) but he was done torturing himself over it. He couldn’t stand the thought of Jaskier being away from him, and it was only logical that he act on his desires, if only to sooth his own mind. He also needed to protect Jaskier, and marking him was part of that.

But-

But.

Geralt knows Jaskier is his mate. He wants to be with him, even if they barely speak most of the time and they spend more time arguing than exchanging casual conversation when they do…

He wants to keep other alphas away, to prevent repeat incidents of what had happened that evening in that blasted town. A mark was the best way to repel unwanted advances.

He wants to be rid of the alpha grumbling that comes with restraining himself, and holding back his most basic instincts as the other man’s mate.

Funnily enough, it is Geralt’s conscience, the conscience of a mutant, a monster, _a butcher,_ that prevents him from tossing Jaskier down and mating him the moment he’s freshly washed after his encounter with the other alphas. His body burns with want, his mind buzzing with discontent and a sense of franticness to reach the end, but-

Jaskier peers at him expectantly, body shivering underneath the blanket Geralt has wrapped him in (the frail towel he carries on the road didn’t seem thick enough) and once he’s efficiently dry, his posture opens from its hunched state.

He bares his neck, his legs spreading slightly, _inviting._ Geralt has unwittingly walked in on Jaskier with partners many times, but the omega has never presented himself like this before. A _true_ presentation, not the forced replication prostitute omegas put on for perverted betas or unworthy alphas.

It’s alluring. It’s _tempting._ It’s the most aroused Geralt has ever felt before, his cock stiffening uncomfortably in his trousers, straining for release. His mind drifts, for a moment, as he imagines finally knotting someone, an act he has withheld from performing in the past. It signified as something more intimate for him, and the first time it had nearly happened, he’d had to abruptly pull out from a woman before completion. Thankfully, he’d learned to master the urge from copious practice.

Bizarrely, the thought of Jaskier sated, marked, _comforted,_ connected to Geralt a _fterwards_ is almost more appealing than the idea of the act itself. Of actually fucking the bard. Maybe it’s the newness. A novelty. He’s _enticed._

Jaskier opens his mouth, a mouth Geralt has cursed so many times, but now feels a keen appreciation for. His lips form around an _A,_ for alpha. It will be a call, a provocation. Consent, because although Geralt has fantasised about having his way with Jaskier roughly in the past, he isn’t the sort of scum to force himself onto another person. He’d be no better than those entitled aristocratic alphas if he did that. The sort of alphas Jaskier despises.

This makes Geralt’s mind drift from the erotic sight before him, once again. The brain is such a traitorous organ, tugging him away from what he wants so badly, but he’s grateful for it, when he thinks, suddenly, of _other_ alphas. Not the power-hungry ones that bind or mistreat omegas, or the desperate kinds who resort to rape or molestation.

But the reasonable ones. Geralt doesn’t like people, inherently, but he isn’t naïve. He knows they’re out there, that they love and respect their omegas. He’s seen them, even though the unsavoury alphas often give the rest a bad reputation. They properly court their omegas, they marry them, they give them children. They even grant them freedom, because they overcome their possessive urges out of love.

Good alphas aren’t always visibly abundant, but they’re there. If Jaskier didn’t flee so often, if he wasn’t so determined to keep following around a witcher so much older than him, even if he didn’t _physically_ appear it-

If he stuck somewhere, even for a little while, he could find someone. Someone his age. Someone who understood all of his youthful references, who had the openness to laugh freely at his jokes. Who complimented him, and his singing. Someone who could offer him the future he deserved.

Jaskier didn’t want to be tied down now. He didn’t yearn for children. He wanted adventure, thrills, a lifestyle of excitement and indulgence. He was _young._ It was what most young people wanted.

And it was a fact of life, even if young people were reluctant to see it at first, that once that youth faded into something a little more mature, attitudes changed. Wants, sated or not, morphed. Even if Jaskier wanted him now, even if he passionately declared it, even if he _felt it with all of his heart,_ and had never been so sure about anything in his life-

There was no guarantee that wouldn’t change when he got older. Age was an inevitable, creeping bastard for humans, and if Geralt mated him, tying them together for life, whether Jaskier’s desires changed or not-

He could end up resenting Geralt, and he’d never be granted freedom from him. Not with a bond.

And that makes the lust leech from Geralt, makes his heart, beating fast with adrenaline, fall heavy in his chest. His cock turns flaccid, his throat bobs, and no matter how hard it is-

He averts his gaze.

He wants Jaskier, his alpha screams for him, but he loves him too much to trap him.

He doesn’t see Jaskier deflate, doesn’t see the hurt flicker across his face, but he knows it’s there. He feels cowardly for shying away from it, but there’s no guarantee he won’t change his mind if he sees how disappointed his mate is. His own scent, which had been outpouring heavy pheromones, sours with resignation, and Jaskier’s own dims in quality, in response.

He knows he should explain himself. It’s what Jaskier needs, and he deserves justification after Geralt has admitted their connection. It will be hard, but it needs to be said-

But Geralt has never been good with words.

“Hmm.” He grunts, turning back to Roach, who is peering at him with accusing eyes. He can almost sense disappointment in her, and he wonders, not for the first time, if she understands all that transgresses before her. If she comprehends human speech. He busies himself with her saddle, removing it with the ease of decades of practice. He rubs her down, curses when she nips at him once when he removes her halter, and feeds her some oats. When he feels calm enough to turn around again, Jaskier is facing away from him. He’s changed into another pair of clothes. Not fresh, but cleaner than the ones he had been wearing. Something is missing from the picture-

_His lute,_ Geralt realises, in a flash. _Fuck. It must have been left behind._

The next town is a hard ride three days away, and he can’t imagine Jaskier without it for so long. It’s almost a comfort item, he even cradles it in his sleep sometimes.

Geralt doesn’t know whether it’s been smashed to pieces by vengeful townsfolk or not, but he knows he’ll have to go back for it. To at least try. It’s the least he can do, and he’s scrambling at this point to improve Jaskier’s mood. It would mean leaving him alone again, but he doubts the bard would be foolish enough to wander off after what had transpired.

“Stay,” he says, curses himself for his gruffness. “I’ll go back to town for it. Ride Roach if there’s danger.”

He puts the saddle back on as she nickers, the halter, and ties her to the tree again. It’s the same one as before, almost a parody of earlier that evening.

“Will it be safe?” Jaskier is angry, and confused. He’s never been good at hiding his emotions. But he cares. “You’ve slain the beast, the mayor may not extend you amnesty, especially after you razed one of the more popular inns. You could be attacked-“

“I’ll deal with it.” It’s less of an assurance and more of a curt statement. “There’s still some of the berries you harvested left, so eat those tonight.”

Usually, Jaskier would complain here. Lament about how much he desires a good hearty meal, or something sweet and decadent. He’s very descriptive when he speaks of food, as he is everything else.

Not tonight. He hums, dismissively. Almost a replica of Geralt’s grunting.

Geralt doesn’t say goodbye. He trudges off into the dense woods, and tries to ignore the forlorn sigh Jaskier heaves. It isn’t crying, and he wonders if Jaskier is refraining, for his sake. He’s an emotional man. Or maybe he’s opposed to falling into the stereotype of a hysterical omega. Both make equal sense.

It some ways, Geralt finds the withholding of true emotion even worse than Jaskier’s usual melodrama.

* * *

Geralt half expects Jaskier to leave him at the next town. Even hopes for it a little.

A little, because despite the guilt, Jaskier is undeniably his mate, and he doesn’t want to lose him.

His vivacious travel companion is a shadow of himself. He hasn’t melted into a puddle of despair, but he’s stopped talking so much. He doesn’t sing, and the tunes he strums on his lute are melancholic. He refuses to ride with Geralt on Roach, with slows their travel down considerably. He refuses all contact with Geralt entirely, even if he allows the usual scenting with a clenched jaw when they reach the outskirts of the town.

He can see the word swimming in Jaskier’s blue eyes, clear as day, ‘ _hypocrite’,_ but he doesn’t speak it. Is he punishing Geralt with silence? Or is he merely trying to keep their arrangement afloat?

There’s no beast to slay here, at least not from what they’ve heard. No rumour, no request. They need supplies, and they need a hot bath, and a proper bed for a couple of days. Jaskier does his customary upbeat singing as they traverse the town, tucking the coins that are tossed his way into his left shoe, since he has no coin purse (something Geralt had expected to hear about to no end, he never thought he’d miss Jaskier whining) and generally making the atmosphere less wary. There’s no open hostility here, but Geralt can still tell they’d rather he have rode on to the next town. 

The innkeeper agrees to accommodate them. He’s a beta, but he can smell Geralt’s powerful scent connecting the pair, and offers, “One bed?”

Geralt nods his head, even as Jaskier objects. “No, I’ll be requiring my own room.”

The innkeeper appears nervous, and looks between the pair, clearly unsure who to obey. In the end, he acquiesces to the fuming alpha. Naturally. “Ah, I’ll fetch your key!” He disappears into an adjoining room, and Geralt frowns when Jaskier heads for the door resolutely.

“Where are you-“

“I’m not leaving.” Jaskier says, firmly. His grip is tight around his lute. “No matter how furious you make me, the thought of leaving you is comparable to that of being disembowelled by a furious cuckold. I merely require some space, and I hope you will respect that.”

Formal. Uncharacteristic. _Unpleasant._

Geralt wants to deny him, but Jaskier had bought the ‘r word’ into things, which made it impossible. He’d resent himself for oppressing him. “Where?” He demands instead, through gritted teeth. He’s annoyed, despite himself. He knows Jaskier is being reasonable. Humans often need space to process emotions, Geralt certainly does.

“Another inn nearby. I won’t venture too far. I’m sure we’ll inevitably see one another before it’s time to leave.”

Geralt doesn’t want to think it of him, but humans also have a tendency to lash out when they’re upset-

“I have no intention of stirring up trouble. No irritating inn patrons. No bedding any men or women. I’ll be enjoying a hot bath, some nice food, and the solitude of my own hand. Does that appease you?”

He knew. _He always knew_. What was worse, he sounded a little hurt.

Geralt opens his mouth, but Jaskier is gone. He’s left gawking dumbly, before he hears a throat clear, and he turns, to see the innkeeper, key in hand, looking rather awkward. “Your key, Sir.”

“Hmm.” He extends a hand, and accepts the key. He doesn’t bother with thanks.

It doesn’t concern the innkeeper, who chatters on. “We serve food and ale here, three times a day, for an extra cost. It gets a little rowdy at night, but I try to keep the patrons quiet past midnight.”

“Hmm.”

“My wife and daughters do all of the cooking and serving, so ask them if you require anything.”

“Hot water for a bath.” He requests. “As soon as possible.”

“Aye, Sir.”

* * *

True to his word, Jaskier finds an inn nearby. Once Geralt is clean, and had his clothes washed and dried (thankfully it’s a warm day, so he doesn’t have to wait long) he sniffs the bard out. There’s an apothecary, a seamstress, and an understated brothel between their two respective inns.

Geralt eats at his own inn, having the fortune to arrive downstairs when food is being served. One of the daughters gawks at him as he orders a plateful of mutton, and he’s pleasantly surprised when it comes with a couple of potatoes slathered in butter. The girl shakes as she serves him, he tries his best not to make her faint by glaring at her. She’s leaking fear-scent, an omega. It’s almost enough to put him off his food. Almost. It’s been a long time since he’s eaten meat he hasn’t killed himself, and the potatoes are a new addition. His ale is replenished periodically without him asking, and he isn’t disturbed.

He misses Jaskier’s chattering.

“Any mysterious murders around these parts?” Since the pair had started travelling together, Jaskier had taken it upon himself to do the brunt of information gathering in towns. People are naturally put at ease by his jovial nature, and he’s a lot less imposing than a looming witcher. But with the bard absent, Geralt is forced to do it himself. It would be a shame to pass through here and miss something. It’s happened before, and Geralt doesn’t like retracing his steps. “Unexplained mauling? Disappearances?”

_I guess not,_ he thinks, when the girl practically flees back to the kitchen, bony knees trembling. 

A shame. He’d almost relish killing a mindless beast right about now.

* * *

He finds Jaskier in the stables with Roach, feeding her a plump carrot he’s snatched from somewhere. His skin shines, free of sweat and dirt, and he smells fresh. Geralt inhales and exhales, letting the scent of his mate sooth the jitters of their separation.

“I’ve become rather fond of her.” Jaskier eventually imparts, when the carrot has been munched away, and he’s wiped his hands on his trousers. He doesn’t look at Geralt as he speaks. “The thought of leaving her pains me as well. How silly, growing attached to an animal. I imagine…” His eyes slide to him pointedly, here. “It’s hard, having to say goodbye when your horses age. You adore them so.”

Geralt’s cheeks flush slightly. “Adore is a strong word-“

“Animals have such short lifespans compared to humans. It’s almost cruel. We bond so strongly with them, but we’re fated to lose them so quickly. I don’t think I could bare it, losing so many equine friends over the years. I understand why you don’t like making connections with humans, since our time on earth is practically an animals lifespan to you.”

Geralt’s not stupid, and neither, apparently, is Jaskier. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, what with the bard’s general understanding of emotions (something he doesn’t know whether has been learned, or is strictly natural) and his talent at reading Geralt, but he’s still a little taken-aback that the man has figured him out so easily. Has he become that predictable? Is it a result of them being mates? And, of course, how best to deal with the bard’s newfound knowledge?

“Do you know what I had for lunch?” The change of topic is so unexpected, that Geralt reels for a moment, before furrowing his brow and shaking his head mutely. Typical Jaskier, so hard to follow… “Roasted goose, marinated in the most delightful sauce. A lovely change from the rabbits you’ve been skewering over the last few weeks, and just as fresh. The innkeeper’s son is responsible for raising them for slaughter, although they keep some of the females alive for eggs.”

“A common arrangement.” It’s so banal, but Geralt is just relieved Jaskier is speaking normally again. He’d take boring chit-chat over sullen silence from him any day.

“From what I observed, the lad is rather fond of the geese. Although I don’t really see the appeal. They are hideous, _cantankerous_ creatures. I’ve been chased by geese more than once. Do you know they have _teeth?_ And their eyes are _positively malevolent_ , they always have an evil gleam-“ Jaskier pauses here, clearly expecting Geralt to interject, and prompt him to get to the point, as per usual. When the witcher doesn’t, he cuts himself short. “But this boy, he’s fond of the geese. Or rather, one goose in particular. I saw him tending to her when I did some exploring, he treats her like a dog. Needless to say, I was mortified to learn she’d been served to me. Apparently she’d stopped laying.”

Geralt isn’t heartless, and he knows the pain that comes with losing an animal companion. He grimaces. 

“The boy wailed so loudly and unreservedly when he discovered she’d been butchered, that a soldier ventured inside the inn to make certain there hadn’t been a murder. As you can imagine, I was keen to vacate the premises myself. If I didn’t have such a keen appreciation for a full stomach, I probably would have vomited...”

The thought of his mate being ill distresses Geralt on a more basic level, and a concerned rumble leaves his chest, unbidden. Usually this would make Jaskier beam with happiness, but his smile now is fainter.

“I know you want me, Geralt,” Jaskier is uncompromising in his confidence, stroking Roach’s mane almost absent-mindedly as he continues to speak. “I know I’m not as beautiful as your usual whores, or particularly clever, but our courtship goes both ways. We’re compatible, I saw it in the way you looked at me that night.”

Geralt sighed. “Jaskier-“

“Which led me to the conclusion that there was something stopping you from finally mating me. I thought about it on the road, contemplated anything my mind could muster up. ‘Is it because I’m not a woman?’ I thought, or perhaps I was just so _irritating_ , that even underneath our attraction you couldn’t stand my company.”

_That’s why he was so quiet and pondering._

“But, ridiculously, when I saw that boy and his goose, my mind drew a comparison. I realised…you weren’t refraining because you didn’t like me, or anything of the sort. But rather because compared to you, my lifespan is so short, and I’m so fragile. You don’t want to lose your mate.”

That was partially his reasoning, yet-

“But it doesn’t matter,” Jaskier continued, jutting out his chin stubbornly. “Even if I grow older than you, I don’t care. You’re my _mate,_ and I’d rather focus on the now than some hazy future.”

Such a youthful attitude. Seize the day, forget what comes after. It only reminds Geralt of his decision, and reinforces his commitment to doing right by Jaskier, even if the other male doesn’t see his rejection as something to be grateful for yet. He will, one day, when he’s sitting in a home with grandchildren running around.

“I want you. You want me. That established, can you finally fuck me?”

Geralt knows nobody else is around (his senses would have picked up on a foreign approach) but he still glances around, paranoid about Jaskier being overheard. He isn’t a prude, but he dislikes the idea of anyone picturing his omega in bed. “It isn’t that simple,” Geralt gets out, roughly, when he looks back to the omega. “Not everything is so clear cut, Jaskier.”

“Then what is it?” Jaskier snaps, impatiently. He’s clearly too frustrated to try calmly re-assessing, and Geralt doesn’t blame him. It must have taken a lot of courage, to put himself out there like that for Geralt, even if he’d been sure of his words and the conclusion his mind had reached. “Because I’ve wracked my brain for days now, trying to find the reason I’m inadequate-“

“You _aren’t_ inadequate.”

“Then WHY-“

_Fuck. He’s losing his temper._ Jaskier tended to be vocal, when that happened. “Jaskier-“

“Just _bloody_ SPIT IT OUT ALREADY, GERALT! You’re _torturing_ me by withholding your feelings. Do you know what happens to an omega rejected by their mate? I’ve been trying not to melt into a despairing puddle _for days,_ and you just keep making it WORSE-“

“You’re scaring the horse.” Geralt cautions, as Roach shifts uneasily at the noise. “Calm down.” When Jaskier opens his mouth, presumedly to continue shouting, Geralt reaches out and drags him close, tucking the angry omega under his arm, and forcing his face to his neck. His scent gland produces some soothing pheromones, and he sighs once more when Jaskier inhales and exhales deeply, his quivering form stilling. They remain like this for a minute or so, Geralt enjoying the solid weight of the omega and the way their scents mingle together. “Better?” He says, eventually, when Jaskier’s breathing has evened out. “I’m sorry,” he added, awkwardly “I didn’t know you were…having such a rough time of it. I guess I don’t know as much about omegas as I thought.”

A huff. Geralt can feel Jaskier’s mouth mumble against his skin. _“That’s for bloody sure.”_

Geralt had been opposed to being honest, but he knows now that not being truthful will only prolong Jaskier’s suffering. In his attempt to spare the omega’s feelings, he’d inadvertently made matters so much worse. He was damning his own emotional ineptitude. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

“Can we finally have sex?” Jaskier’s voice isn’t hopeful, it’s wry.

“No.”

“Will you finally explain why we can’t?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then. But let’s go to your inn, I bet that boy is still crying.”

* * *

Geralt had still taken the inn room with the larger bed, which is where Jaskier sits, back against the headboard. He’d had the sense to remove his shoes, at least. Geralt had felt compelled to join him, but held back, and was now looming over him, arms crossed, as he fumbled with what to say.

Jaskier had been patient, drinking from a water jug and fiddling with his lute. He knew that it sometimes took time, for Geralt to speak, and was content to wait, so long as he knew the man wouldn’t change his mind, and would verbalise eventually.

“You’re young.” Geralt manages to get out, jolted, after he’s paced the length of the room several times over. He feels like a caged beast. “And you’re attractive.”

“Thank you. Although really, Geralt, your complimenting could use some work. There’s a million ways you could describe me, and you stuck with such a _boring_ adjective.”

_He’s still not understanding._

“With how long you’ve been around, you should be well-versed in some creative-“

“I have been around a long time.” Geralt interjected, before Jaskier could continue his tangent. “I’m mutated. Non-human.”

“You’re more human than a lot of the hedonistic nobles I’ve encountered on my, _admittedly shorter_ , time on this earth,” There’s an edge of humour now, and Geralt would be pleased to see Jaskier regain his spark, if he wasn’t trying to make a point. “You breathe. You bleed. You communicate with words, _sometimes,_ and you have a conscience. You’re _not_ inhuman.” Jaskier’s voice was adamant. It was clear he wasn’t budging on this particular subject.

Geralt knew a lost cause when he saw one. He’d have to find another way to get his point across. Gods, this was why he _hated_ conversation. “I’m less human than you.”

Jaskier’s mouth, which had been open, pursed. He looked Geralt in the eye searchingly, and Geralt glanced away, unable to stand the sensation of being read. It didn’t seem to matter, because a moment later, Jaskier _‘ohhhhh’ed’_ in realisation. “You think I should be with someone normal, without your _witcher_ eccentricities.”

Eccentricities. Only Jaskier could make his most vital flaws as an individual sound so _avant-garde._ Like he was some unconventional scholar, or peculiar artist…

“No.”

“Are you seriously telling me I’m wrong right now?”

“You _deserve_ someone normal. An ordinary human who shares the same life-cycle as you, and can provide you with…” Geralt huffs here, needing a moment to compose the rest of his speech. He yearns for solitude, and a large mug of ale. “I cannot give you children.” He settles with. “You may not want them now, but omegas always yearn for them eventually. I don’t want to be responsible for robbing you of the life you should have had with another alpha.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier is peering at him like he’s the stupidest person he’s ever seen. He speaks slowly, as if to a toddler. “We are mates, remember? I won’t _have_ another alpha. Furthermore, I don’t appreciate you spewing such nonsense about omegas in my presence.”

“Life isn’t a romantic poem or sonnet, Jaskier. The real world is a big place, most people go their whole lives never meeting their mate. Do you know what they do? They settle for another, because loneliness is a more fearful fate than solitude. You can love someone else.”

“And you could handle that, could you?” Jaskier challenged, doubtfully.

“I can’t deny that the idea doesn’t…offend some part of me, but-“

“You growl when I don’t smell like you, Geralt. You can barely stand the idea of me going on a jaunt into town alone, let alone choosing someone else and living the rest of my life with them. Yet, you presume to believe that even if _I_ could abandon my mate so coldly, _you_ could accept it? You’re deluded.”

“You’ll get tired of this solitary lifestyle, Jaskier. You’ll want more-“

“How **_dare_** you tell me what I want! You arrogant, _stupidly self-sacrificing **knot-head!**_ I refuse to listen to this nonsense a moment more! If I wanted my own life dictated to me, I would have stayed in an omegan etiquette class and gotten married the moment I turned sixteen!”

“You’re barely more than that now! You don’t _know_ what you want _-“_

**“I want you!** ” The declaration is so fierce, that Geralt is rendered speechless, his argument dissipating in the face of Jaskier’s passion. “I don’t know _why_ I do,” he admitted, softly. “You’re a boorish brute with outdated opinions about omegas, but the idea of being with anyone else _pains me like a physical wound._ I know my mate, I can’t just try and pretend you don’t exist because you’re not some fairy-tale prince who lives up to unrealistically lofty ideals! You claim to have such a wealth of knowledge, but you’re evidently as virginal to this as I am.” Jaskier pauses, to take a breath, before continuing in earnest. “You claim to know my biology better than me, yet you know nothing of the way your rejection hurt me. You’re my _alpha,_ Geralt. Not just because of biology, or fate, or _whatever you’d call it,_ swindling us, but because _I choose you._ I’d choose you over a cliché house in the hills, a towering castle filled with earthly delights, over wealth and status. Squealing children don’t even need mentioning, that’s how little I care for the idea of them. Are you beginning to understand me, or do I need to burst into song?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

At the sight of Geralt frowning, not entirely convinced yet, Jaskier decided to resort to more drastic measures of getting his point across. Jumping to his feet with a dramatic flourish, he made a great show of clutching at his chest, falling back onto the bed again in a show of theatrics. He fluttered his eyes closed, a breath shuddering hoarsely through his parted lips-

“If that’s your impression of death, you aren’t as familiar with the process as you claim to be in your songs.”

“I’m not dying, you ignoramus. At least in the figurative sense. You have _broken my heart,_ and I’m in deep mourning. If you continue to reject my affections, I’ll waste away tragically due to my unrequited adoration for you, and your glorious body, which I’d very much like to-“

“How long are you going to keep this up?” Geralt interrupted.

“What up?”

Geralt gestured to Jaskier, and his current state of disarray.

“Oh, not long.”

That wasn’t a real answer. Geralt knew Jaskier could sulk for days on end, and it wouldn’t surprise him if he kept up his antics for that long just to get his way. “Until dinner?”

“Hmmmm. No.” Jaskier made a show of humming contemplatively, then shook his head. “Until you accept my love, and kiss me senseless.”

“Jaskier-“ Geralt started, warningly.

“Do not bother berating me further, my mind is made up.” Jaskier made a show of huffing this, his lower lip extending in ~~an admittedly cute~~ , infuriating pout. Now that he’d gotten to the roots of Geralt’s insecurities, he seemed assured in his victory over the witcher.

“Perhaps you are right about having children, Jaskier. You’re practically still one yourself!” How could he be in love with such an aggravating, _disobedient_ omega.

“Exactly! I really wouldn’t make a fit parent. My child would be dead within a week. Now, can we finally-“

Geralt growled at the stubborn omega, although he felt a sense of pride in his chest, at how dedicated his mate was. Most would have gone running for the hills by now, but Jaskier was tenacious. He never gave up. This loyalty was the trait of an _outstanding_ omega, it not a dysfunctional one.

Dysfunctional. Jaskier had _always_ been dysfunctional.

As he stared at the commiserating bard, in all of his theatrical glory, he thought-

“Maybe we are meant for one another.” It’s a reluctant concede. “In a genetic, instinctual way. I’m an inhuman monster, and you’re…sometimes I’m not even sure you’re a proper human. You’re weird.”

Jaskier gapes in fake outrage, but sits up, nevertheless. His hair has fallen upon his face in a curly mess, and his blue eyes almost look angelic as they peek through, although Geralt can plainly see the mischief glimmering there. “Does this mean you’re accepting my generous offer of lifetime companionship?”

_He’s not going to give up._

“Hmm.”

Having long learnt to distinguish between Geralt’s grunts, Jaskier leapt from the bed in a display of re-energised joy, practically _leaping_ into the witcher’s arms with reckless abandon. Geralt was forced to catch him, staggering backwards. Jaskier may not have been overly muscly, but he wasn’t a petite woman. If Geralt wasn’t so strong, he would have dropped him on his ass from surprise alone. Funny, how this odd human had the capability of shocking him…

“Now let’s prove our love to one another! Mate me _right now_ , on this bed. Preferably, I’d like to have a second round after, and I don’t want to hear any complaints! I know you have exceptional stamina. But, I want you to mark me after our _first_ time, it’s so much more _romantic_ that way.”

“You are one insatiable bastard.” Geralt doesn’t deny the stamina part. It’s true. If there was one good thing about his mutant genes, it was his unending virility.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been fantasising about this day since the moment we met. I saw that tent in your trousers when I presented myself for you. I’ll do it again now-“ Jaskier squirmed to be released, but Geralt held on tighter.

“No.”

“No? _No?_ Are you _trying_ to torture me? My ass was already beginning to lubricate-“

“If you’re not going to live out your life with a normal human alpha, I’m at least going to do this the right way. I’m not fucking you on some bed in an inn, with thin walls and a flimsy door. Nobody but me will hear you, or smell you, or see you after. A _proper_ mating ritual.” Geralt is not going to negotiate on this.

“That…sounds very sweet of you, Geralt, if not a little creepily possessive, but where on earth will you find such a place? You don’t exactly own a secluded cottage in the woods, or a castle. Considering our travels…this is probably the best you’re going to get.” Jaskier pointed out, reasonably.

“I’ll work something out, there’s no urgency. It will be traditional.” The way Geralt would have liked it, had he been a normal human. The way he’d imagine sometimes, when heavily intoxicated. The way he believed was best suited to the pair of them. Jaskier may have been content to settle with a sloppy coupling now, but he’d certainly regret it later. He was a romantic, after all.

“When you speak of traditional…you don’t mean _marriage_ do you?” Jaskier questioned, somewhat apprehensively. “Because that’s an awfully long time to wait, Geralt, although the idea of monogamy doesn’t terrify me as much as it once did-“ Jaskier trails off, at the aghast expression on Geralt’s face. “Oh good! I wouldn’t have said no if you proposed, but I don’t really want to marry you until I’ve taken you for a test ride.” He gives a lascivious wink. “I wouldn’t spend my life with a man who couldn’t pleasure me.”

Unceremoniously, Geralt released his hold on Jaskier, and the bard sprawled onto the floor with a yelp, limbs flying in every direction. He gets a glimpse of Jaskier’s ass, and is relieved to note there is no damp patches from lubricant. Jaskier always exaggerated. “I need a drink.”

“Indeed!” Jaskier pushes himself up, not at all put-out by being dropped so abruptly. “A drink to celebrate our union!”

The idea of drinking with the bard again thrills Geralt, even as he knows his happiness will rapidly fade the longer he sits, listening to Jaskier babble. Still, he’d missed the sound of his voice, the sound of his _mate._ He can’t admit that though, it will only make Jaskier’s head even bigger, so he grouses. “A drink to _forget_ our union.”

Now up on his feet again, and beaming as bright as the sun, Jaskier presses a soft kiss to the side of Geralt’s frowning mouth, voice soft and affectionate. “I _know_ you love me.”

Geralt has exhausted his speaking capacity for today. “Hmm.”

“I love you too!”

But it doesn’t matter, because his mate has come to know him. The progression of their relationship hasn’t been an easy one, but Geralt is looking forward to finally having Jaskier, now all of the pesky feelings have been discussed and dealt with. There are still doubts, and fears, but they are dulled by the knowledge that, for the meantime at least, Jaskier will have no regrets. And if that changes in the future…

They’d cross that bridge when they came to it. There was no point torturing themselves over it now.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stomach goose again. Other fowl should be alright though, I’d never be able to give up _cock.”_ It’s a bad joke, even for Jaskier.

Geralt sighs.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Jaskier: If I run at Geralt, he will most certainly catch me in his arms  
> Geralt: Hmm  
> (B99 reference)
> 
> Fun fact: I actually started to write smut directly after the last one-shot I did, but decided it didn’t really fit in yet and then churned out this overly long piece of emotional constipation instead. I didn’t want to go back and have to deal with any of the issues discussed in this AFTER the ‘bonding’, so I got all of Geralt’s grievances out here. I kind of see him as the type of character who’d sacrifice his own happiness if it meant doing the right thing for someone he cares about. Kind of cheesy, but just the vibe I’m getting from the TV show. Haven’t read the books or played the game yet though, so I could be wrong! In the end though, nobody can resist Jaskier ;)
> 
> Once again, THANK YOU to everyone who has commented and left Kudos so far on the other instalments of this series. It has been great encouragement and I feel much more confident as I continue :)
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this (if you would like, no pressure) and I hope everyone is having a good February!
> 
> (Excessively long title taken from ‘Girls’ by The 1975)


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